


Listening

by esteoflorien



Category: Wicked - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Gelphie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteoflorien/pseuds/esteoflorien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glinda the Good is not the little girl you remember. Slightly musical-verse fic with a hint of the book, but you needn’t have read it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listening

Glinda the Good is not the little girl you remember, you realize, when she’s tracked you down and is standing, utterly bedraggled but entirely undimmed, in the doorway of your little hideaway.

"I knew you’d come back here," she says, waving her hand at here such that you don’t know if she means here here, at your father’s old house, or Munchkinland more broadly. "Aren’t you going to invite me in?"

You look her up and down, at the rain running rivulets from her golden hair to her ridiculously unpractical satin shoes.

"And don’t even attempt to make me believe your nonsense about water, for goodness’ sake. Of all things, Elphaba! And that ridiculous little stunt has made my life more than a little difficult, so the very least you can do is let me in to dry."

You usher her inside, gripping her elbow firmly, and the little smile of satisfaction that flits about her mouth amuses you. At least she’s smiled because of you.

By the fireside, wrapped in a rough blanket that isn’t worthy of her or her soft skin, she fixes you with a level stare, and you remember a night, long ago, when Galinda had also been right.

(“You think I’m a silly little girl,” Glinda had said quietly from her perch on her bed, and for all the pink ruffles and lace trim, for her pretty little dress and her prettier face, she’d looked terribly sad.

"I don’t," you’d told her, but it was a weak protestation even to your ears. "It was a brave thing, Glinda," you’d said, and the pride that had spread across her face had warmed your heart. "And the very last thing I think you are is a little girl."

Glinda had tilted her head, her smile dimming with consideration, not dismay. “Elphie,” she’d begun, “I think you’ve been trying to tell me something, and I don’t think I’ve been quiet enough to listen to it.” You’d waited with baited breath for her to finish, but she’d turned away to ready herself for bed.)

"Are you ready to listen to me?" you ask, interrupting her rightfully angry diatribe. She’s been listing your transgressions for the better part of a quarter-hour, and you hardly need Glinda the Good to remind you of them.

She pauses at your words, surprised first by your temerity, you gather, then by her own recollection.

"I’m not very good at that, Elphaba," she says, finally.

"You’re better than you give yourself credit for," you say. "But it’s time we said some things."

She smiles, a glimmer of Galinda on her face. “So it is.”

"It wasn’t out of malice that I was so cruel to you, then," you say. You sound terribly formal, but she smiles.

"I know that," she says with a far-away smile. "I hoped for something else, you know. Hold out, my sweet, you told me," she says, her voice suffused with far more sorrow than bitterness. "I did. I tried. You never came back."

"I’m sorry," you say. "I was wrong, Glinda."

She nods. “I appreciate that.”

"I wanted more from you than you were willing to give," you say.

"Oh, Elphie," she sighs. "You should have simply asked me. I wouldn’t have refused you, you know. I thought I’d made that clear."

You consider her words for a moment. She was a shameless flirt with the boys at school, you remember, but entirely superficial in her attentions. She ate dinner with you, studied with you, shared herself with you. Against all odds, she tracked you down in the middle of a rainstorm to assure herself that you were well, for all her bluster at taking you to task. You’ve managed to misread her all these years.

She looks beautiful in the half-light of your decrepit little living room: entirely out of place, like a crystal bauble set amongst ruins. Her hair gleams golden from the firelight; her cheeks are flushed with hesitant warmth; tiny little droplets of rain still rest on her lips.

You rise from the sofa to kneel before her, courtly, like a knight to a queen, for that is what she is; even sat in a little lean-to in the middle of Munchkinland with dirt for a floor, Glinda is regally magnificent.

"And would you refuse me, Glinda, if I were to kiss you now?"

She smiles, shaking her head, and licks her lips. “No, Elphie. You should know that by now.”

You kiss her, then, and beyond all reason, she kisses you back, returning your caress with hesitant little brushes of her lips.

"Elphie," she says, leaning her forehead contentedly against yours, "I’ve been waiting a very long time for that."

**Author's Note:**

> If this looks familiar, it was previously posted on my old tumblr account, nofortunestobetold.tumblr.com. While that account is still active, I'd like to keep all my fic under my new URL :)


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